


all in our world is good and kind (or five times Jim passes Mccoy over)

by f_vikus



Category: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:27:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_vikus/pseuds/f_vikus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starfleet is not the upstanding administration that everyone believes in. The Kirks move into a Stepford life. Leonard Mccoy is the anomaly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starfleet would be my neighbor

**_1\. Starfleet would be my neighbour._**

They watch as the Kelvin twists itself into the body of the Romulan ship. All the while, George sits on the floor of the medical shuttle, stroking baby Jimmy’s cheek and murmuring, “I love you, sweetheart.” 

 

\-- 

 

When Jimmy is six, the Kirks move out of Iowa and into a little town in Georgia wedged between Stepford and Nowhere. At six, Jimmy doesn’t particularly care about the turn of events, other than the fact that his parents are now home all the time, and he is as far away from Grandpa Tiberius as he can imagine. 

 

\-- 

 

The Kirk household had been somber the month before the move. That whole month, Jimmy had watched his parents fight without talking, Winona’s eyes tight, and George’s shoulders held back stiffly. Winona hadn’t cried once, but a dark flush rose up on her cheeks every time George turned away from her. Grandpa Tiberius had sided with Winona, looking George straight in the eyes before telling him, “Son, it’s a miracle you’re with us. I’d take it and run.” George turned and left the room. 

Afterwards, Sam had crawled under Jim’s covers, and whispered, “Don’t worry Jimmy. Mom and Dad aren’t going in space no more. ” 

“Why?” Jimmy had asked, snuggling closer to Sam. 

Sam yawned. “Someone tried to blow up the Kelvin again. Dad was on it.” Sam tugged the covers closer over Jimmy. “It was bad, like when you got born on the Kelvin.” He flipped his pillow before inhaling deeply. 

Jimmy’s eyes flew open. “I got born on the Kelvin?” But Sam was already asleep.

 

\-- 

 

The week of the move, however, is a different story. Grandma Laura frets and coddles Jimmy until he is squirming from the attention. Sam vanishes like a cat, so Jimmy sits in his parents’ room, and gets in the way. 

“No more,” Winona says as she folds shirts into a box, her eyes soft, betraying her firmly set mouth. “We were lucky with the Narada situation, and with Jim, but no more, George.” Jim watches this exchange from his seat on his parents’ bed, a model of the USS Kelvin clutched in his hands. “Sam!” she yells. “Go help your grandmother with the dishes!” 

George merely smiles and says, “Okay, Winnie.” He turns to look at Jimmy, holding out a hand. “C’mon kiddo, let’s go clear the shed.” 

Once outside, Jimmy turns to George. “Sammy said you and Mom are staying with us now.” 

“That’s right.” George sets some boxes down in the corner before opening the shed door. “Okay, hold the light and we’ll pack the tools first.” He pulls a flashlight down from the shed shelf, turns in on, and hands it to Jimmy. 

Jimmy stares at his father, confused. “But you like space.” 

“That, I do.” George stands, surveying the inside of the shed. “Move the light there, Jim.” He picks up a box. 

Jimmy moves the light to the corner that George is pointing at. “But Dad, won’t you miss space?” 

George closes the cabinet he is at and turns to Jimmy. “Yeah, son,” he says, looking at him, and in the beam of the flashlight, his blue eyes are bright. “I’ll miss it a lot, but I’ll miss you more.” 

 

\--

 

“We have our own rooms!” Jimmy shouts excitedly. Sam shoots past him. Downstairs, he watches his mother hug his father, her face buried in his shoulder. His father is still smiling, but Jimmy thinks that his smile is sad. 

 

\-- 

 

A woman visits on the Friday after they move, carrying a vegetarian casserole with her son in tow. George invites her in. 

“George Kirk,” George says, holding out a hand, “my wife, Winona,” and gesturing to Sam and Jim, who shuffle forward obediently, “my boys, Jim, Sam.” 

“Amanda Grayson,” says the woman. She shifts the casserole against her hip and nudges her son forward. “This is Joshua.” The boy peers out from under the fringe of an unfortunate bowl haircut, his pointed ears sticking firmly out. 

“Hi,” Jim says. 

The boy beams a blinding smile, and then says excitedly, “Don’t call me Joshua. I’m a captain!” 

“You can call him Spock.” Mrs. Grayson offers. “That’s what his father and I call him at home.” 

 

\-- 

 

Jimmy doesn’t miss Iowa as much as he thinks he would’ve. He misses Grandma Laura, and the way she squeezed him in her hugs, and Grandpa Tiberius’ booming voice, but every month, he misses them less and less. The sky in Georgia looks exactly like the sky in Iowa. 

By the time Jimmy celebrates his seventh birthday, he’s forgotten his grandparents’ faces. His parents throw him a party, and he spends the day running around the yard with Sam, Spock, and several of the neighbours’ kids. Kalo, a Ba’kuian, lends him his rhyl as a birthday present (“Don’t kill it!” Kalo had made Jimmy promise before handing over the small pet.), Talas, a Bajoran, gives him an old Terran gift, a boomerang. Carol and Kilana both drew him pictures, and pouts until he promises to put them both up in his room. 

 

\-- 

 

The model of the USS Kelvin stays on the top shelf in his room, gathering dust. 

 

\--

 

Eventually, everyone decides on a Terran game of baseball. Kilana swings and pops the ball up and out, and the ball flies out of the front yard and into the sky. 

“Way to go, Kilana,” scowls Spock. Kilana scowls right back at him. 

“I’ll get it!” Jimmy offers. He’s seven now, a big boy, and he can save the day. 

“We’ll get it together,” Sam sighs. Jimmy follows him as they cross the street and walk down the block, looking for the ball. They wander into several of the neighbours’ yards before stopping. 

“Sammy,” Jimmy eventually complains, “I can’t find the ball.” He stops and slouches over himself on the street. “And it’s too hot,” he adds, his voice pitching up in a whine. Sam sighs. 

“You looking for this?” Jimmy turns around to find a boy holding the ball. The boy is dark haired, and taller than Sam, but he holds the ball gently, like he was holding a baby kitten. 

“That’s ours,” Sam points out, holding out his hand. The boy hands the ball back to Jimmy, but he looks at them longingly.  
Jimmy opens his mouth. “I’m James Tiberius Kirk. It’s my birthday.” 

The boy looks taken aback, but then he smiles. “Happy Birthday. I’m – ” 

“Hurry up!” Spock comes running up, Carol in tow. “Your mom’s cutting cake!” 

Sam takes the ball from Jimmy’s hands and tosses it to Spock. “C’mon, let’s go,” he says, pulling Jimmy along. Jimmy doesn’t look back.


	2. Starfleet is my neighborhood strip mall

**_2\. Starfleet is my neighbourhood strip mall._**

However technologically advanced, Jim’s town prefers the façade of the old West, with the small corner stores, and narrow streets. The members of the town are surprisingly diverse in their intelligence and skill, but pass their days running small but functional groceries, the small but functional bookshops and butchers, the small but functional hardware stores and specialty shops all scattered around the town square. Their forms of entertainment were few, and a little ways “out of town,” according to Mrs. Grayson, who gives Sam, Jimmy, Spock, and Kilana a ride to the cinema or the library whenever she runs errands. Mrs. Grayson herself runs a floral shop, “which is a surprising change of career,” Jimmy overhears his mother tell his father one day. “Her husband is a Starfleet diplomat for Vulcan. She used to accompany him on his trips.” 

Jimmy knows this is a Big Deal, since his father’s answer is accompanied by a sigh. “Well, Winnie, I guess she put her priorities in order.” 

His mother also sighs, and this is new, so Jimmy tries harder to listen in. “We also put our priorities in order, George.” Her voice is tired and low. 

 

\-- 

 

The only anomaly to this trend of small but functional of shops is the medical clinic located at the edge of the town center. The clinic is small, but not functional. Operated by a Doctor McCoy, the clinic looks rickety from the outside. The inside is no better, with peeling wallpaper, and the perpetual smell of antiseptic tinged with blood and sick clings to the air. It is a community clinic, but most of the town view it with leery caution. The clinic was known to take in all sorts of characters, the rumour went. Vagrant, drunks, aliens who couldn’t get healthcare anywhere else, addicts. Broken people. 

Mrs. Marcus comes over for coffee one night and informs Winona over the kitchen table that the clinic won’t last for much longer, not with the doctor neglecting the upkeep of the place. 

“And that son of his,” Mrs. Marcus’ voice drops to a whisper, “works at the clinic. What kind of father would expose their children to something like that?” Winona smiles patiently, but before she could say anything, Sam and Jimmy run into the kitchen, followed by a shouting Carol. 

 

\-- 

 

When Jim, no longer Jimmy, is thirteen, the little town center they had nearby becomes slated for demolition and expansion. The town is upgraded overnight. The theatre relocates to a more central location, as does the library. The schools are enlarged. They build a pool, parks, a community center. The medical clinic is still there, dwarfed by the shiny new buildings. 

“All financed by Starfleet,” George Kirk informs the family over dinner. Sam merely grunts and returns to his food, but Jim perks up. 

“Why?” 

His parents don’t answer him right away, but Winona slides her eyes over to George before saying, “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” 

 

\-- 

 

Jim wakes one night to Spock’s insistent stone-throwing. He tumbles ungracefully out of bed and lands on the floor on his shoulder before shuffling over to the window, still wrapped in his duvet. He yanks the window open and neatly dodges a stone Spock just threw. “What are you doing?!” he hisses. 

Spock disappears, and then reappears in the tree next to the window. “Get dressed, Captain Stupid. Kilana is hosting a party at her house.” There’s a cheeky smirk thrown in, before Spock shimmies down the tree, but not before he adds, “She has Romulan ale.” 

Jim gets dressed in a hurry and follows Spock down the tree. He remembers hesitating, he hasn’t told Sam; they’ve always done everything together, he was gonna kill him, and then Jim stumbles down the driveway after Spock. He remembers Kilana opening the door, and Talas laughing before handing him a cup of something really blue. That’s all he remembers because the next time he wakes up, he’s on the lawn of Kilana’s house, and someone is shouting Is he dead, check his pulse. 

Spock appears in his line of vision, along with Carol and Kalos. “Are you okay,” Carol says breathlessly. “You flew off the roof – ” 

“Jumped,” interrupted Kalos. “You climbed the roof, said, ‘Look, I’m the USS Intrepid,’ and jumped.” 

Jim tries to get up from the lawn, and groans when his arm is unable to support his weight. 

“You arm appears to be broken,” Spock says, bending over to help him up. “Our dads are going to kill us.” That statement will have been more effective if it hadn’t been punctuated with a giggle. 

They somehow make it to the medical clinic, if only by sheer will and slight drunkenness. Spock pushes the clinic doors open and hoists Jim into the waiting room. They look at each other, Jim now slightly covered in blood from his arm, Spock’s normally perfect bowl haircut sticking up in the back, and start laughing hysterically. 

“Hello?” 

Both boys’ heads snap up at the greeting. Coming around the desk is a tall teenager. 

“Jesus, what happened to you?” The boy sounds unimpressed, but he’s reaching for Jim, brow furrowing as he runs hands over Jim’s face, checking his eyes for signs of a concussion. He moves back and says, “I’m going to check you over in the back.” His eyes flicker to Spock, and he asks, “You are his...” 

“Best friend,” Spock says, a hiccup slipping out of him. 

The boy sighs and rolls his eyes, pointing to a coffee station. “Water is over there. Vulcan, right? We have tea if you want to try to detox the chocolate out of you.” He turns to Jim and pulls him up. “We’ll get you fixed up. C’mon.” 

 

\-- 

 

The boy, for his cross expression, has gentle hands, and Jim finds himself leaning into the touch. The boy feels Jim’s arm for the break, and then reaches for the bone regenerator. “James Tiberius Kirk.” He says it with firm conviction, and a touch of reproach, and Jim’s eyes snap open in surprise. 

“Jim Kirk. How do you – “ 

The boy narrows his eyes. “You don’t remember.” Jim is still gaping at him, so the boy shakes his head. “Never mind.” He tilts his head, and turns the regenerator on. “I’m Leonard McCoy.” 

“What a terrible name!” slurs Jim. He waves wildly with his unbroken arm. “It’s a name for old men, old man!” 

The boy scowls at him. “Try not to insult the doctor setting your bones.” He moves the regenerator over Jim’s arm. “It’s a good name.” He concentrates on Jim’s arm, before murmuring, “Besides, my mother named me.” He turns off the bone regenerator and picks up the laser reknitter. “Just to make sure everything’s set.” 

Jim nods half-heartedly and yawns. The alcohol had a surprising kick that blurred out most of his evening, but now he is just drained. 

“What were you doing? Pretending to be a spaceman?” Leonard asks. 

“Uh, spaceship, actually,” Jim says sheepishly. “I was the USS Intrepid.” He flushes. 

“More like the USS I’m Stupid,” snickers Leonard. He adjusts the laser and moves it in an indiscernible pattern over Jim’s arm. 

Jim stares at Leonard. “You have terrible manners.” 

“Yeah, try not to hold that against me,” retorts Leonard sarcastically. Then he sobers up. “You could’ve died.” He says it straight, without any hint of reprimand or pity. Jim appreciates the matter of fact manner and he shrugs. 

“Funny thing,” he begins, not sure why he was even saying this. “There were all these stars. And they were so close, you know? I could just fly to them, and touch them, and I would be closer.” To what, he wasn’t sure. A memory flashes quickly across his eyes – the stars in the black sky, untouched by light pollution, the feeling of intense freedom – he smiles wistfully. 

“The stars are light years away.” Leonard shakes his head. “I’m staying on Earth for the rest of my life. So no, I don’t know.” He turns off the laser. “Your arm is going to be sore. The bone is still soft from the healing process, so don’t use that arm. I’m going to wrap your arm and then sling it, so you won’t be tempted to use it.” He moves towards the dented metal cabinets. “One week in that, no sooner, and come back so I can make sure everything’s fine.” 

“Hey,” Jim says, once Leonard is back with the gauzes and tape. “What are you doing here?” 

Leonard looks at him strangely. “I work here.” 

“Yeah, but you’re, like, a kid.” 

“So are you. What’s your point?” 

“Are you even a real doctor?” 

“Don’t make me rebreak your bones.” 

“And what kind of a dumb name is Leonard?” 

Leonard stares at him incredulously. “I just fixed your broken bones. Are you serious?” 

Jim sticks his tongue out at him before bleating, “Leonard, Leonard, Leonard.” 

“Oh my God,” groans Leonard. “You are an infant.” He throws his hands up in mock defeat. 

“I can’t call you Leonard.” Jim flails in mock protest. “That’s like having the name Horatio. So bad.” 

Leonard startles. “That’s my middle name,” he says. Then he narrows his eyes suspiciously. “How did you –“

They stare at each other, Jim’s eyes round with mirth. 

“Awkward,” Jim sing-songs. Then he looks at Leonard slyly. “Leonard Horatio. Man, I’d beat you up in school for that name.” Jim misses the way Leonard’s shoulders hunch up and in when he mentions school. “Leonard Horatio McCoy,” chortles Jim. “Lenny Horatio McCoy. Lenster.” 

“You,” growls Leonard, “are not going to call me anything. And,” he points a finger in Jim’s face, “stop squirming. I’m wrapping your arm so you don’t accidentally rebreak your bones. And don’t tempt me to break it again for you!” 

“Bones!” 

“What?!” 

“See? You even answered to it!” Jim pumps his unbroken arm in triumph. “Bones. That’s what I’m calling you.” He wiggles the fingers of his broken arm in Leonard’s face. “Almost good as new! Awesome!” 

Leonard glowers at him as he smoothes the last piece of tape over Jim’s arm and hands him the sling. Before he could put it on, George Kirk bursts into the room, followed by a now sober Spock and incensed Winona. 

“Mom!” squawks Jim. He slips off the biobed and nearly falls on his face. He’s held up by Leonard’s very firm grip on his upper arm. 

Winona rages and admonishes and grounds him to high hell before making the appropriate motherly comments. Jim endures this good-naturedly; he did jump off the roof of a house. When he looks at his father, though, the disappointment in George’s eyes immediately kills all the humour inside him. 

Leonard is all business when George moves to talk to him. “It’s a minor fracture, but it’s been healed. You’ll need to make sure he stays off that arm, and doesn’t use it,” he narrows his eyes pointedly at Jim when he says that, “and keep it wrapped. He should come back in a week to make sure everything’s as it should be.” He looks at Jim again. “If he’s in any pain, a general painkiller should do it.” 

“Awesome!” Spock pushes his way to Jim and smacks his wrapped arm. “It’s not even broken!” 

“OW!” howls Jim, clutching his arm. 

“Boys,” frowns Winona, “Let’s go outside.” 

“Thanks,” says Jim, but he’s looking at his arm as his mother herds him and Spock to the waiting room. 

George waits until they are out of the room. “Thanks for setting his arm.” 

Leonard shrugs. “Like I said. Minor fracture.” He moves to the other side of the biobed and presses a button, the bed cleaning itself automatically. “Starfleet Medical will be here in two days to restructure the clinic.” He doesn’t meet George’s eyes when he says this, his voice coloring with forced back defeat. “You’re welcome to rescan his arm then.” 

George takes in the dingy lights, the cracked ceiling and floor tiles, the boy in front of him with a slumped shoulders. “Son,” he asks. “Where’s your father?” 

Leonard looks up at this question, meeting George’s gaze with an old tired look in his eyes. “He’s at the house with my mother.” He hands George a bag. “Extra roll,” he explains, “for his arm.” He looks pointedly at the door. “Goodnight, Mr. Kirk.” 

When George meets up with his family outside, he puts his hand on Jim’s head, and tries not to think about Leonard’s exhausted expression.


	3. Starfleet ate your mom.

**_3\. Starfleet ate your mom._**

The clinic is torn down and refashioned into a Starfleet hospital. When Jim returns to the new hospital a week later, there is no sign of Leonard anywhere. Instead, the hospital is sterile and gleaming, and bright, and Jim leaves feeling a little colder even in the Georgian heat. 

A week later, Jim comes home to find Mrs. Marcus, Mrs. Grayson, and his mother sitting silently around the kitchen table. His father comes in the door as he reaches his bedroom, so he leans over the stairwell to eavesdrop. 

“Ellie McCoy is gone.” Jim hears his mother gasp, and then Mrs. Grayson saying, “That poor boy.” 

Jim vaguely remembers the name McCoy. Then Sam cuffs him in the side of the head and says, “Don’t be a tool and come help me out.” 

 

\-- 

 

No one talks about it. Not really. There are shared knowing looks, significant nods, topics of conversation that everyone just seems to avoid, a secret code that Jim’s mother is becoming well versed in. Of course, all this meaningful unspoken language never makes its way to George’s knowledge, let alone Jim’s ears, heaven forbid, and everyone is content with the sleepy contentment that settles over each house. Sometimes Jim feels the prickle of something on his neck, but he just moves an arm to brush it away. 

 

\-- 

 

Sam, on the other hand, is curious and old enough, thank you very much, and has discovered girls, much to Jim’s chagrin, and it is through Sam’s latest girlfriend that Sam learns what everyone else in the neighbourhood has been keeping from him and Jim. 

“You didn’t know?” says Aurelan, her eyebrows rising in surprise. She kisses Sam on the cheek and touches his face where she kissed him. “It’s so tragic,” she sighs. “Mrs. McCoy was really sick. Well, she was sick for a long time, but she got sicker this last year, so Dr. McCoy stayed home most of the time to be with her.” She paused. “If I got sick, Sam, would you leave everything and stay with me?” 

Sam put his arm around her and squeezed her in response. “Of course.” 

She sighed, content with the answer. “Anyways, she died last month, but everything else was going downhill too, because when Starfleet issued the remodel of the clinic, Dr. McCoy was apparently not included as returning staff.” She shrugged. “That’s what my mom said. She also heard that Dr. McCoy made his son work there. His son, can you imagine?” She scrunches her nose. “Apparently, he’s about our age.” 

“Huh,” hums Sam noncommittally. 

“It gets worse. See, the son, Luke, or Len, or something, stopped going to school to help with the clinic right, and he’s missed lots and lots of class, so he couldn’t graduate, or even make it up. So he’s, like, stuck.” Aurelan says this last part with a shudder. “I don’t know what I’d do.” 

 

\-- 

 

Jim doesn’t notice the house at the corner of the block. The shades were always drawn. Jim doesn’t notice, because Mrs. Grayson drives from the other side of the neighbourhood when she picks up Sam, Jim and Spock from school. Jim doesn’t notice, because Winona never mentions Ellie or David McCoy. Jim doesn’t notice, because Sam, for once, kept his mouth shut. 

Jim doesn’t hear about Leonard until a month later, when George comes home, and quietly tells Winona that David McCoy has left town, and left his boy behind. 

 

\--

 

The argument starts when Sam comes home with a Starfleet application form and written recommendations from his professors. 

“They want me to join, Jim.” Sam thrusts the form into Jim’s face. “I have a shot at getting out of here and seeing things, Jim. New people. New technology.” He sits heavily on Jim’s bed. “Jim. You can do this too.” 

When the Starfleet enlister comes to their house, it isn’t Winona that asks the enlister to leave, but George. He politely shows the enlister to the door. Then he turns to Sam, his normally bright blue eyes diminished. 

“No, Sammy. You can’t.” 

Jim leaves for Spock’s house just as Sam begins shouting. 

 

\-- 

 

Jim is now sixteen and bored out of his skull. He’s taken to writing his notes backwards to prevent himself from sleeping in class, but only on the days he actually bothers to go. Sometimes he spends days at the library, reading book after book. The world was a lot bigger than what they painted in class. School was what Sam called Starfleet Light, where they teach you the necessities of getting out into the world, but not really succeeding past that. Sam was off this year vacationing with Aurelan, leaving Jim to turn mental with boredom. Spock actually went to class. “I go,” he informed Jim once, very snottily, “to irritate my teachers and classmates with my brilliance.” Then he had cracked up as Jim threw him into a headlock. 

Jim is sitting outside of the school, staring at the clouds and munching on the apple his mother slipped into his lunch this morning. A man walks by him, up the stairs to the school, but hesitates just before entering the doors. 

“Yeah,” Jim calls out, “I wouldn’t go in either.” 

The man starts in surprise, and turns around to face Jim. His face relaxes into recognition. “Jim Kirk.” 

Jim cocks his head in confusion. “Bones?” 

The man walks closer, shaking his head in amusement. “Don’t call me that, brat.” 

“Bones! It’s you!” Jim hops off his seat and holds out his arm. “Great job on this, by the way. Works and everything.” He wiggles his fingers as proof, and then extends his hand for a handshake. Leonard moves forward to take it, his jacket too short at the arms and exposing his wrists. Jim notices the protruding bones and a ring of fading bruises on Leonard’s wrists when they shake. 

“Good to know,” snorts Leonard. He shifts from one leg to another, as if debating something. 

Jim hops back on his perch and fishes around his bag for more food. He studies Leonard. He’s gotten taller, filling out around the shoulders but he is thin. His cheekbones stick out, showing the hollows in his face, and his eyes are tired. “So,” he says, “Whatcha back here for? Checkin’ out all the underage hotties?” He waggles his eyebrows. 

“No,” Leonard says uncomfortably, and moves a hand to his head as if to scratch it. “I’m trying to finish school. I just have to take a couple of exams. They made an exception for me, after – “ he trails off. “Anyways,” Leonard starts up again, “I’m writing them today, and maybe they’ll give me a diploma for graduation.” 

Jim shrugs. “Gotta do what you gotta do.” Jim finishes his apple and begins to work on his cookie. 

“Right,” says Leonard, but he says this without much conviction. He’s busy eyeing Jim’s cookie. Jim catches him staring, and procures another one. 

“Want it?” 

Leonard jaw tightens, and for a moment, Jim sees very clearly the internal struggle. “I got lots more,” he offers, and all but thrusts the cookie in Leonard’s face. 

“Thanks,” Leonard says, and takes the cookie graciously. He nibbles on the edges and smiles. “Your mom make this?” 

“Yeah,” Jim mumbles around his cookie. “She’s the best.” 

“Yeah, she is,” says Leonard, and breaks off a small piece. The bell rings and both of them look up, Jim hopping off his seat and dusting his pants. 

“I gotta go, man. Don’t want them to catch me being truant and all.” 

Leonard cracks a smile. “Pretty cautious of you, y’know, sitting in front of the school and all.” 

Jim laughs and waves a goodbye as he walks away. He pretends to not notice the way Leonard surreptitiously tucks the rest of the cookie into his threadbare jacket. 

That evening, Jim comms Sam to tell him about Leonard, and Sam looks guiltily off the side of the screen before saying, “There’s something you should know about that guy.”


	4. actually, Starfleet is the neighborhood bicycle

**_4\. actually, Starfleet is the neighbourhood bicycle._**

Somehow, Jim makes it through Starfleet’s form of high school with his parents’ approval intact. After he receives his diploma (a digital scroll that is pretty kickin’, since Jim’s also managed to program it to play movies), his parents greet him with pride in their eyes. Sam and Aurelan were there, as was Grandpa Tiberius, and Winona’s mother. 

(“Transported just for you, Jimmy,” Grandpa Tiberius had chortled, slapping his back. Even at his age, his grandfather still packed a mean slap, and Jim nearly bowled over from it.) 

Winona kisses both his cheeks and says, “Oh, Jim,” her eyes filling with tears. 

“Ma, oh, don’t cry,” Jim whines, embarrassed, but he smiles anyways, his heart filling. George comes up behind him, and offers him a firm handshake. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mrs. Grayson tugging on Spock’s collar, Spock silently squirming from her administrations. Spock’s father stands a little off to the side, hands behind his back, but Jim knows that he’s proud, proud, proud, like how Jim’s father is proud of him. 

He pulls his father into a hug, and says, “Thanks, Dad. This means a lot.” And he knows that George understands when he replies, “Anything for you, son.” 

Then Jim sees the lead administrator across the field. “Excuse me,” he tells his parents. “I just gotta – “ 

 

\-- 

 

“Jim,” Sam had begun. “Remember when you broke your arm, and Spock took you to the clinic?” Sam was fidgeting nervously. “And the doctor’s kid fixed your arm?” 

“Bones?” Jim had asked. “What’s he got to do with anything?” 

“Look, this is what happened,” Sam sighed. “You broke your arm. The week after, Starfleet restructured the medical clinic and turned it into a hospital. They fired Dr. David McCoy, that’s Leonard’s dad. A week after that Mrs. McCoy died. A month after that, the dad left town.” 

Jim’s stunned. “So Bon – Leonard stayed behind?” 

“No. He didn’t exactly stay behind because he wanted to. His dad left him behind, dude. Apparently, he sold the house before he left, and then left. So Leonard or whatever you called him didn’t have a place to live. Dude, he didn’t even graduate, according to Aurelan, because he dropped out of school to help at the clinic. So when the dad didn’t get rehired, they didn’t need Len either.” 

Jim frowned. “I saw him today. He’s alive.” 

“But it looks like he’s barely making it, right?” said Sam. “Good for you man, cause even Mom thought that kid died somewhere, you know? It’s been fucking years. Makes you wonder what he’s been doing to survive. Couldn’t have been easy, being uneducated and homeless.” Sam shrugged. “Did you know Dad tried looking for him? Called all his old Starfleet buddies for help, make sure he was okay. Couldn’t find him. It was like he just vanished.” He paused, and then laughed to himself. “Guess they should’ve looked closer to home.” 

Jim had felt cold all over. It explained everything, why Bones was literally bones, all sharp cheekbones and tired eyes, why he had saved the cookie. Why he looked unkempt and exhausted and hurt. Something else nagged at Jim’s memory. “Hey, why did Mom and Dad leave Starfleet? I mean, Dad loved it and everything.” 

“Huh, that,” Sam said. “You know you were born on the Kelvin?” 

“I guess?” Jim replied. “I had the toy ship and everything, so I guess it was important.” He huffed, and Sam smiled. 

“Yeah well, you and Mom and Dad almost died on the ship when it got attacked. I was with Grandpa Tiberius on Earth when that happened. And when Dad went up into space again a couple years later, the Kelvin got attacked again, and so Mom and Dad retired.” Sam cocked his head. “Actually, I remembered them arguing about it. Mom said something about us needing parents, real ones, not just ones that visited every five years. Something like that. I really don’t remember.” 

“Priorities,” breathed Jim. And suddenly, everything he ever heard and saw made perfect sense. 

“Guess you could say that,” said Sam. 

 

\-- 

 

“Sir! ‘Scuse me, sir!” Jim shouts, running after the administrator. The administrator turns, and Jim leans over to catch his breath. 

“James T. Kirk,” the administrator says warmly. “Congratulations on your graduation. You did sweep away those scholarships. You were an exceptional student,” she smiles, “aside for your atrocious attendance.” 

Jim chuckles weakly. 

“What can I do for you?” 

“I’m looking for, uh, I’m wondering,” Jim pauses. There was no graceful way of doing this. “Look,” he says, “I don’t know if he graduated, but if he did, I was wondering if you had Leonard McCoy’s diploma. His name wasn’t read but I know he wrote the exams and everything.” 

The administrator looks at him for a long time, before finally speaking. “He did graduate, and I do, as a matter of fact, have his diploma. But he called to say that he was unable to make the ceremony and that he didn’t want the diploma.” She sounds incredulous as she relays this to Jim. 

“So he graduated,” says Jim. 

“He graduated,” repeats the administrator. 

“He’s mistaken, he wants it,” Jim says firmly, and holds out his hand. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kirk. We don’t just hand out other people’s diplomas to just anyone.” 

“Look, I’m not just,” Jim pauses before he says something he shouldn’t. “I’m just, I’m his friend, okay? Like, his only friend.” And then he stops, because he just doesn’t know. 

The administrator stares at him. Then she smiles and reaches into the cloth bag at her side, pulling out the scroll. “McCoy, Leonard. In your hands, Mr. Kirk.” She places the silver tube in his open hand. 

“Thank you,” breathes Jim. As he turns to leave, the administrator calls out. 

“If you do see him,” she says, “tell him he’s got options.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“He would’ve beaten you in the scholarship department if he was properly enrolled. Since he wasn’t, we were not able to offer him anything, but with his test scores...” she trails off, and then looks Jim in the eye and smiles. “Just let him know, Mr. Kirk.” She leaves. 

Jim stands there, holding the scroll, and thinks of when a dark haired boy handed him a baseball. 

 

\--

 

He’s pretty sure he’s never partied this hard before. His tolerance for Romulan ale has increased, but not by much, because when he staggers out of this house party to go to the next one, he is one step away from crawling, and two crawls away from blacking out. 

The street is mostly deserted, except for him and a couple of his friends lurching down the middle of the road. He’s lost Kalos and Spock at the last party they stopped at. Carol is hollering now for Jim to hurry the fuck up what are you waiting for you slow sorry excuse for a graduate and there is this echo in between his ears. Jim laughs because he’s never been this happy before. He fumbles for his communicator – he wants to call Sam and ask Sammy is this how you felt so free and invincible? and Jim thinks that he could maybe be the USS Intrepid and fly away. 

“USS I’m Stupid,” Jim chortles and nearly trips onto his own face. He rights himself, still laughing, but his friends are further up the street. He’s too tired to chase them, so he weaves down the street, stopping at corners to catch his breath and to orientate himself. 

There are two men in the alleyway across the street from him, and Jim nearly misses this exchange, except a moan floats up in his direction. Jim turns his head to the scene just as one of the men is sinking to his knees, long fingers undoing the stranger’s belt and Jim’s trying not to watch, his brain is going ohmygodwrong but the man on his knees with his long fingers in the stranger’s pants and around the stranger’s cock is mouthing at the stranger’s hips and even Jim’s getting hard from the other side of the street. Jim’s going to chalk this up to the booze in the morning, but it’s hothothot and the stranger is moaning, and loud, now, his voice bouncing around the alley walls and around Jim’s ribcage, spiralling down to his cock. The man on his knees is bobbing his head, quick and smooth, but the stranger must not have come because he pulls the man up and slams him up against the wall. Jim winces internally because that looked like it hurt, and all his friends have left him now and he’s alone. 

He wanders up closer to the tableaux in the alleyway. The stranger is thrusting up into the man now, and every thrust pushes the side of the man’s face into the wall, and Jim can see how the man’s fingers are scrabbling against the brick, how he’s pushed his wrist into his mouth, and biting down into the skin, because that’s all he is, just skin and bones.   
There is no real rhythm to this, just a stutter of hips and a strangled moan as the stranger finishes, and Jim watches as he pulls out of the man, and reaches into a wallet. He tosses credits at the man, and leaves, buckling up his pants as he walks away. 

When the man stumbles out of the alley, Jim notices him trailing long fingers along the bricks of the building. His hands are shaking and then Jim sees, and he thinks he knows those wrists, those thin sturdy wrists with their strangely delicate bones, and he thinks of Bones, Bones, Bones, and his terrible fucking atrocious bedside manner and Jim feels a little hollow and detached in and out. 

He laughs to himself, he’s so drunk, and where are his friends, those fuckers, leaving without him. It will take him all night to get home. 

The man is walking quicker now, and Jim admires the way he is walking without a limp – that takes skill, and Jim refuses to think about the implications of that thought - and then he must’ve stopped thinking altogether, damn Romulan booze, because he’s running across the street to the man, his mouth opening and calling out Bones Bones into the almost empty street, reaching out for that wrist. The man freezes when Jim touches him. 

“Ha, sorry,” Jim slurs to the man’s back, though his traitorous hands are still on the man’s wrists, pulling the man around, “thought you were Bones, ha – ” 

The laughter dies immediately Jim comes face to face with Leonard McCoy. 

He drops Leonard’s wrist like he’s been burned. “Whoa, Bones? The fuck, man, what?” Jim blurts out, completely blown. “You’re a hooker?” 

Leonard reels back like he’s been slapped. Jim turns and bolts.


	5. Once upon a Starfleet

**_5\. Once upon a Starfleet_**

“You’re so fucked.” 

Jim cracks one eye open. It’s unnaturally bright, and Jim really has no idea where he is. Sam’s face swims into focus. 

“Ugh,” moans Jim, throwing an arm over his face. “You.” 

“Yeah, me,” says Sam affably. “Your wonderful older brother who got up at fuck o’clock to get your trashed ass back to my place.” 

“Thanks,” mumbles Jim into his arm. “Where’s Aurelan?” 

“Making breakfast for your ungrateful ass.” Sam slaps Jim’s legs until he shuffles them over on the sofa bed. He sits down next to Jim and tosses the television remote back and forth in his hands. “So,” he begins conversationally, “wanna tell me what’s exactly the matter?” 

“I’m dying,’ grumbles Jim. “You talk.” He huffs and turns over, throwing a pillow over his head. 

“You’re an asshat.” Sam drops the remote on Jim’s head. “You start talking.” 

Jim flails in protest before he stills. “I was a dick,” he confesses. 

“What?” Sam pulls the pillow away from Jim’s face. “You, a dick?” Sam says, feigning incredulity. “When are you not a dick? Be more specific.” 

Jim half-heartedly scowls before pulling the pillow back over his face. Sam sighs, folding his hands over his stomach. “Does this have anything to do with McCoy kid?” 

“Get out of my head, Sammy.” 

Sam laughs. “Too be honest, that was the only thing I recognized when you called me last night – other than the “Imma fuckin’ drunk,’ and ‘come an’ get me Sammy.” 

Jim huddles under the pillow. 

“Okay, Jim. Time to be a big kid now. Eloquence is a Kirk gift. Don’t let it go to waste.” 

“I saw him.” 

“Who? Ghandi?” 

“Bon – Leonard – okay?” 

“Huh,” breathes Sam. “And?” 

“I might’ve sorta did call him a whore. To his face.” 

“That’s just classy, Jim.” 

“Shut up, Sam. I was drunk, okay? It was a shock, I mean, the kid who set my arm was whoring himself out?” Jim runs a hand over his face and sighs defeatedly. “And I don’t mean it now. I just didn’t think I’d ever see him again anyways and then there he was, wham bam thank you ma’am all out in the alleyway.” 

“Wow, Jim. You really deserve a big fucking gold star for that.” 

They sat silently next to each other, Sam tapping his fingers and Jim sulking under the blankets. 

“Sooo,” Sam says, after awhile, “what are you going to do?” 

“Fuck if I know,” grimaces Jim. 

 

\-- 

 

Spock, of course, is no help at all. “I’m in Paris,” he says crossly, as if this statement alone would explain his mood. 

“So?” Jim exclaims. “I’m in need!” 

“I’m in Paris,” he repeats, looking at Jim like he’s grown two heads. 

“So?” 

“So,” Spock says, incredulously. “It’s Paris. There are girls.” He sounds out the last word as if there were two syllables. 

Jim rolls his eyes. “Okay. So there’s A Girl. Spill.” 

Spock conspiratorially looks both ways on the vidcom, and then leans forward. “Her name’s Nyota.” He smiles. “She’s on a Starfleet exchange from San Francisco, studying xenolinguistics.” Spock sighs. 

Jim looks on, mock-horrified. “Oh my God. You’re in love.” 

“What?” snaps Spock over Jim’s snickers. “She speaks Vulcan, okay? And Romulan. It’s impressive. She’s impres – shut up, Jim.” 

Jim holds back another snicker. 

Spock sighs, this time in resignation. “Clearly, young love is wasted on you.” He sweeps a hand imperiously over his hair. “So what happened now?” 

 

\-- 

 

Spock, to his credit, does not call Jim Captain Stupid to his face, although it is a very near thing, by the way both his eyebrows hid under his bangs. 

“You’re no fucking help,” Jim grits out in frustration. 

“I’m a half-Vulcan studying diplomacy,” Spock explains patiently, “not a doctor. What did you expect?” 

 

\-- 

 

“Hey, do you know a Leonard McCoy?” 

As far as great ideas go, this was his worst, by far. There was no game plan. This was Jim standing on a street corner, trying his best not to freak out. The boy he stops and asks is slender, his skin nearly translucent in the street lights. Jim takes one look at him and understands the appeal. The boy looks harmless, and all of twelve, but underneath the curls and wide eyes, Jim sees potential. The boy glances over at him irritatedly, before turning away. 

“Hey,” Jim calls again, reaching for the boy’s arm. “Excuse me. Do you kno – “ 

The boy whirls around, and Jim catches a flash of something before the boy quickly schools his features into a mask of appeal. “I don’t know any Leonard McCoys,” he murmurs in heavily accented English. He gives Jim the once over and steps towards him. “If you’re lonely, I’m more than willing to keep you company.” 

Jim backs up. “No, no. I’m fine thanks, but see, the man I’m looking for. He’s,” Jim pauses. All his descriptions of Leonard are nondescript and nonspecific at best. “He’s tall, and thin, with brown hair.” 

The boy steps forward, looking at him from under long lashes. “I’m not tall,” he says, coyly, “but I am small enough, and you can call me Leonard if you like.” He reaches to put a hand on Jim’s arm, and Jim swallows his discomfort down. 

“Maybe he goes by a different name, Len,” Jim offers, swallowing hard. “Maybe even Lenny.” 

The boy narrows his eyes, and then drops the honey from his voice. “You are not lonely, but you want to know of someone.” He purses his lips. “I cannot help.” He turns and begins to walk away. 

“Wait!” Jim calls. “Do you know him? Where he is? Wait!” 

The boy keeps walking. Jim watches the retreating figure, and then he’s running after the boy, and grabbing him by the arm. The boy tenses. Jim lets go and takes a step back, hands open like he’s calming a spooked horse. 

“Wait, please,” Jim says, softer. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to – “ he gestures to the boy’s arm. “I’m not looking to hurt you or him. I just, if you know where he is, please, I just want to know if he’s okay.” He has no idea why he’s telling this child anything, but the boy must’ve believed him, because he stops walking away. 

The boy tilts his chin up, staring right at Jim. “Information is hard to come by. Perhaps,” the boy looks at Jim’s jacket pocket, “I can be properly convinced?” 

Jim huffs but reaches into his pocket to pull out a credit chip. The boy pockets the chip before looking away from Jim and into the street. “I don’t know any Leonard McCoys, but there is a man, Len, up the street. He has a spot. You cannot miss.” The boy shrugs. “Is working tonight, perhaps.” 

Jim thanks the boy, and runs up the street. There are others on the street, some looking like the boy he met earlier, others older, harder looking. There are girls everywhere. There is no sign of Leonard anywhere. Jim walks up the block, and then up another, peering into alleyways, and back walks. 

The further he runs, the less the buildings resemble buildings so much as rubble. He nearly trips three times over bottles. Each time, he stops and takes a deep breath. He looks into alleyways, and comes across such questionable scenes that he looks away each time. 

And then he hears it. “Fuck you,” someone snarls, before there is a groan, and several muffled sounds that Jim identifies as fists or boots hitting something soft, something that would hurt. 

He doesn’t recognize the sound at first, thinking it was a kitten or some small abandoned animal. Then his brain catches up to him, and he knows the sound. It’s a low whimper, and it chills him to his very core. Somehow he knows who the voice belongs to, and he speeds up and turns the corner. 

Leonard McCoy is not a small man by nature but by circumstance. In another universe, where he would’ve been well-fed and trained, he might’ve stood a chance against the man, but here, where Leonard is underfed and thin, he is no match for what Jim sees. Leonard is curled inwards on the floor, holding his side, but he is crouched and snarling. The man standing over him looks like a hunk of meat, all hard flesh and muscle, and Jim sees that Leonard wouldn’t hold out for much longer. The man slings a fist into Leonard’s jaw and his head whips to the side, and then Leonard’s down on the floor. Leonard whimpers. 

Jim sees red. 

And then he sees nothing at all, his rage searing across his vision in a blur of white gold. Someone is screaming, and his hands hurt so much. He can’t stop. 

When the world slides back into focus, Jim realizes he’s standing over the man, breathing heavily. A quick look and he notes that the man is not dead, much to his disappointment. His throat hurts, he was the one screaming, and Jim feels alternately chilled and flushed. Jim squints, eyes quickly scanning the alleyway. “Bones?” There’s no one in the alleyway, and all of a sudden, alarm rushes through him. “Bones?” he calls again, panic slipping into his voice. 

“My hero,” someone’s sarcastic voice cuts across the dark. 

Relief cuts through Jim like lightning. “Bones,” he says. “Where are you, man.” 

There is a stifled groan, and then, “Here.” 

Jim whirls around, and then he sees Leonard propped up against a pile of bricks and wood. He smiles and moves towards him. Leonard holds up a hand, and Jim stops, confused. “Don’t. I’m fine.” He shakily pushes himself up, leaning against the wall for support. He looks at Jim. “I suppose I should thank you. For –“ he stops and gestures towards the unconscious man, “that.” 

In the dim light, Jim can see a dark bruise blossoming under Leonard’s skin near his jaw, and another one near his temple. His lip is split. There is what he thinks are teeth marks on Leonard’s neck, deep marks that have broken skin. Jim knows that there are more injuries, underneath Leonard’s clothes. 

It’s a long shot. He knows he’s lucky, that he’s found Leonard, Bones, in the middle of nowhere. He moves closer, but slowly, like he would approach an injured animal. Leonard’s clearly in pain, and clearly in no shape to move, let alone go anywhere by himself. 

Leonard looks at him. “So,” he begins conversationally, as if they were having a drink, or playing cards, and not beating johns into unconsciousness. “What do you want?” He takes a step and stumbles. Jim darts forwards and closes a hand around Leonard’s arm. 

“Some thanks,” Jim grumbles. Leonard just grunts in pain. “Is there somewhere we can go?” he asks. The shirt under his hand is warm and damp, and Jim suddenly smells the blood. 

“Why,” Leonard croaks, “I didn’t think you were that kind of man, Jimmy.” He punctuates this with a hoarse laugh. 

“Think you’re so funny, huh.” Jim tightens his grip. Leonard closes his eyes in pain, exhaling heavily before reciting his address. 

Jim slings Leonard’s arm over his shoulders. “Right, we’ll get there. Sorry for dragging you.” 

“No you’re not,” moans Leonard. He takes a deep breath, and says in a strangled voice, “I might throw up on you.” 

Jim cringes, but holds on a little tighter. They make their way through the streets, slowing down when Leonard begins to stumble. “So doc,” he says, grinning in the dark. “I’ve got this rash –” 

“Fuck you,” says Leonard. 

 

\-- 

 

Jim sort of likes Leonard’s flat. It’s not so much a flat as it is a room, but it has a functioning kitchen in one corner. The bed is a mattress, next to a desk and a bookshelf. There are books – old fashioned paper ones, and by the worn quality of them, obviously well-loved. Jim runs a finger down the spine of one, William Blake, a rare book, and smiles. The bathroom is embarrassingly exposed; the toilet sits adjacent to the showerhead. 

“No one comes here. I don’t need a curtain,” Leonard grumps, as if reading Jim’s mind. Jim starts, and grins sheepishly at Leonard, who’s slapping medical supplies on the table. Jim takes a seat on the stool and watches as Leonard turns on a dermal regenerator? 

“It was best to invest in something like this,” Leonard says, turning up the settings. 

“Get out of my head,” says Jim, mildly perturbed. 

“Want something to drink?” Leonard moves towards the cupboards without waiting for an answer. He comes back with glasses, and a bottle of something amber. “It’s pretty crap liquor, but does in a pinch.” He pours, and then places the cup in front of Jim. 

“So,” Jim begins. 

“So,” agrees Leonard, and takes his shirt off. Jim quickly averts his eyes. “What are you doing here?” 

Jim drinks, and then looks up. “Jesus Christ,” he swears. Leonard’s torso was a patchwork of mottled bruises and cuts. There are scars on his ribs, and his ribs – Jim could count every single one, and could see where Leonard’s ribcage ended. His collarbones stuck in sharp relief, and Jim sees teeth marks decorating his skin like strands of pearls. He gets up. “Let me, stop Bones, let me help.” 

Leonard shrugs noncommittally and hands him the dermal regenerator. Jim concentrates on the new bruises closest to Leonard’s sternum. “The fuck, man,” he says softly. 

Leonard laughs, a harsh guttural sound. “You think that’s bad? Wait until you see my back.” Jim winces. “The ones who pay, for this? They pay more. It helps, if the week’s been slow. Occupational hazard,” Leonard says, quieter. “It happens. It’s a lot better now.” 

Fury rises in Jim. “What do you mean better now?” 

Leonard tenses. He moves away from Jim. “Don’t,” he hisses. “You have no right to say anything.” In that instance, Jim sees something flash in Leonard’s eyes. He remembers, Jim thinks, horrified. He turns off the regen. 

“About that night,” Jim says, putting the machine down. He moves towards Leonard, hands out. Leonard takes another step back. “I’m sorry, okay? I haven’t seen you in ages, and I was just thinking about you, and then there you were in the alleyway, and – “ 

“You saw me in the alleyway?” Leonard’s voice rises in horror, a flush rising across his cheekbones and moving down his neck. 

“I didn’t mean, it was an accident. Bones,” Jim pleads. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I really didn’t.” 

Leonard doesn’t say anything. 

“Please, Bones. I didn’t mean to call you that. You’re not, you know,” Jim trails off. 

Leonard smiles at him, and Jim wants to cry at the expression. “Oh, but I am.” Jim moves closer, but Leonard hunches into himself. “Please, don’t,” he says softly. He turns to the table. “I need to finish up. Could you?” 

Jim swallows, nods. He sees Leonard’s back, and clenches his jaw at the state of it. There are lines on his back, parallel and clearly methodical. There is a twisted scar, and Jim squints and realizes it as a brand. A couple of marks, Jim doesn’t recognize. He looks away, tries to change the conversation. He waves at the table, blinking furiously to keep the rage at bay. “How come you have all this stuff?” 

Leonard laughs at this. “Jimmy, think of this as tools for my residency, treating the disenfranchised.” 

“Huh,” Jim says, turning a pack of bandages over. “Who uses the word disenfranchised to describe,” he pauses, unable to find a less ugly word. 

“To what Jim? The whores? It’s okay, that’s what we are.” Leonard shrugs. 

“That’s not what you are,” Jim says hotly. 

“I don’t know what you’d call this, but I’m pretty sure most of the world calls it whoring.” Leonard pours himself a drink, and downs it. “Gotta do what you gotta do.” He smiles self deprecatingly. “Nurse,” he commands, head tossed back, “give me a hand.” 

Jim finds himself smiling at that, despite the tension in the air. He hands Leonard a cloth. 

“I’m the most qualified out here,” Leonard says, voice low. “The others,” his voice breaks at this, “they are worse off, at times.” He looks Jim straight in the eye. “When I said that it was better than before, I meant it. The others come to me. It helps. Having someone else out here for you.” He moves towards the sink with the bloody cloth, showing Jim his back again. 

“Friends, huh.” 

“In a way.” 

“The Russian kid, the one with the big eyes and curls. He’s down a couple of blocks. You friends with him?” Jim couldn’t help but ask. 

“Why.” Leonard narrows his eyes, voice hard. 

“No, it’s not like that. I was looking for you, and I asked him, and he’s really protective of, I guess, you.” 

Leonard smiles. “I fixed him a couple of times. Let him crash a couple of times if he needed to get away.” 

“Awfully young,” Jim comments neutrally. 

“It’s good. He’s seventeen.” Leonard’s mouth twists. “Legal. So there’s nothing the authorities can do.” 

Jim frowns. “But he looks twelve.” 

“Exactly,” Leonard says darkly. 

Jim shudders, and pinches at his nose. God, this was awful. 

“Hey, let me look at your hands,” Leonard says. “I can fix them. They’re just scrapes. Nothing looks broken.” He turns the regenerator on. 

Just like old times, Jim thinks. He holds out his hands obediently, and Leonard bends over to work on them. Jim can’t keep his eyes from wandering, though, and he looks at the bruises layered on top of bruises on top of scars. “You have a dermal regenerator. Why didn’t you heal the rest of you?” Jim blurts. He stops. “Sorry.” An awful thought runs through his mind. “It’s not for memory is it?” 

Leonard snorts. “I’m not that vain,” and Jim smiles at that. “Dermal regens are more cosmetics than anything. Some clients,” he says it delicately, “don’t like damaged goods. It’s only good for surface stuff.” He motions to his back. “When I got these, I didn’t have the money to get a tissue regen. Dermals are cheaper, and they stop the bleeding quickly.” He shrugs his shoulders. “And I can stitch the worst of them later.” 

They finish fixing Jim up in silence. “Bones,” Jim starts. “Why are you here?” 

Leonard smiles, an unguarded look flitting across his face. Jim marvels at the change. “Bones. You still calling me that. I thought you’d have forgotten. Then again, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” 

“What do you mean, I’d forget? You had the shittiest bedside manner ever.” 

“You ain’t seen my bedside manner,” Leonard retorts, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Jim flushes. 

“Besides,” Leonard continues, putting away his supplies, “reality is I’ve talked to you for a grand total of like three times the majority of which you were too young or drunk even to remember or care.” 

“Bones, you’re clever, and smart. What are you doing? You can get out. You don’t have to do this.” 

Leonard stiffens. “So that’s your plan? Come here guns ablazin’ to “rescue” me?” He makes the appropriate quotation marks, and then narrows his eyes. “I don’t need anyone to save me.” His muscles are tight all across his scarred back. Jim can see his jaw clenching. “No one thought it was important enough.” 

Jim hears the implications. No one thought he was important enough. “But we tried looking for you, Bones,” Jim offers. 

Leonard inhales. “I know. Your dad did. I just stayed under until they weren’t looking for me anymore.” 

“Why?” 

“Jim, don’t be ignorant. I wasn’t old enough to declare state independence. What would they have done?” Leonard is resigned now, no fight in his voice. “Put me in a state ward? No, thanks. I’ve seen my father treat some of the kids that come out of there.” He shuts the cabinet door, and turns to pour himself more alcohol. “Your dad’s a good man, Jim. Don’t forget that.” He smiles ruefully. “Even when it got hard, he and your mom always tried to come by, to see my mom.” He snorts. “Of course, my dad wouldn’t let them in.” 

“So you were old enough to decide that selling yourself is a better route.” Leonard ignores the jab. “Bones, you’re much better than this. There are places that can help –” 

“So what? What place is going to accept a high school dropout with no real work experience because he’s spent the last five years doing this – “ Leonard gestures wildly at himself, before slouching into himself. “It’s all I’ve got, Jim.” 

“Starfleet,” Jim says, and now he’s parroting the Starfleet recruiter who came for Sam. “Starfleet would be willing to offer you scholarships. They’re paying my way through.” 

Leonard snorts. “Starfleet’s paying your schooling, huh? Different name for the same thing,” he mocks. “I don’t want to owe anyone anything.” They’ll hold it against me is unspoken, but Jim sees it in Leonard’s expression. 

“Look,” Jim tries again. “You have options. You did well in your test scores. You can get out! Starfleet offers full scholarships, and you’re bright enough, I’ve seen you –” 

Leonard explodes at this, smacking his palm on the table. “Starfleet! Starfleet couldn’t fix my mother when she contracted some rare alien disease when she and my father were off on one of their humanitarian missions, and when my father could no longer balance my mother and his work, they let him go! What use will they have for me?” He stands there, gripping the table, chest heaving from the outburst. 

Jim stares at him. His mouth opens on its own accord, the words tumbling out, unavoidable, like when he fell off a roof. “Man, I liked you better when you were a cranky ass bitch, and not this depressed selfish asshole.” Wait, I don’t mean it! Jim’s brain wails, but it’s too late. 

Leonard gazes at Jim, his face carefully devoid of any emotion. When he finally speaks, his voice is sad. “Yeah, Jim Kirk. I liked myself better when I was a cranky ass bitch too. At least I was my own bitch and not someone else’s.” 

Jim sees it so clearly, Bones’ insecurity and desperation, his faltering grip on his pride and dignity. He should push Bones, Jim thinks. If he pushes this issue, Bones will give in. He’ll leave with him, get cleaned up and checked out, and he can make something of himself. He forces himself not to add the with me to this last thought. 

He looks at Bones, his startling vulnerability, and the way he’s forcing himself to hold his head up and shoulders back, and wants to cry. “Please,” Jim says, voice breaking. “You can. I’ll help you. It’ll be okay.” Jim thinks, Yes, leave, get out, I can get you out. The mantra in his head is overwhelming the pounding in his chest, the sick, gripping feeling in his stomach that is telling him that this won’t work, he won’t leave with you. 

“I can’t, Jim.” Leonard visibly deflates. His eyes are red, and he takes in a shuddering breath. “I can’t.” 

Disappointment, and something else rolls through Jim in gripping waves. He shakes his head. “You,” and he doesn’t mean for it to sound so contemptuous, and like a sneer, but it does. The hostility in his own voice shocks him, and judging by Leonard’s stunned gaze, shocks him too. “You’re so happy with clinging to your misery, you can’t see outside your fucking blinders. You’re just a coward.” I can get you out, Jim screams in his head, but he can’t take back his words. 

Leonard’s eyes shut down, and he snarls at him. “Go be someone else’s hero. I don’t need your pity. Get out.” 

Maybe not. 

 

\-- 

 

Sam says, “Jimmy, you are such a dick sometimes.” Sam says, “Mom and Dad did not teach us to run away.” Sam says, “You do not call a grown man a whore or a coward, especially a grown man that actually is one because he has no other options.” 

What Sam does not say, but Jim hears just as clearly: “Jim, they did not give us their futures so that we could screw with someone else’s.” 

 

\-- 

 

Spock says, “Man up, Jim.” 

 

\-- 

 

When Jim comes back to this area the next night, he looks for Leonard. He walks the entire block, and then when Leonard doesn’t show, Jim walks the next block, and then the next, until the blocks start blurring together in a mass of bricks and flesh. He asks for the information from the Russian child, but the boy refuses to speak to him. He traces his steps back to Leonard’s place, but no one answers. After a while, Jim’s not sure where he is, and makes his way back to Sam’s with regret tingling in his throat. 

Leonard doesn’t show the night after either, and not once during the week of nights Jim spends on the street looking for him. Jim waits at Leonard’s place as well, and finally breaks in out of desperation, only to find the room empty. He stares at the mattress in the corner, at the empty cabinets, and sits on the floor of the room, shaking. 

Jim watches with a detached heaviness in his chest as these boys and girls disappear into the shadows only to reappear a little more ruined. He asks around, but the answer is the same, no, no he’s not here, but you look cold, lonely, sad, I could warm you up, a lil’ company for you, I’m whatever you want me to be. They always turn to him with bright smiles, peering at him with lovely, delicate expressions from under their lashes, but all he sees now is the exhaustion behind their eyes and in the way they force their shoulders back and their chins up, like horses being broken in. 

They all remind him of Bones. 

He thinks of Leonard, Bones, and how he must’ve had to say these things when he was hurting, hungry and bitterly cold and tired to his bones. He sees Bones’ in their faces, in their mannerisms, in the way they carry themselves, tall against the world, and slumped when they are alone. Jim feels like throwing up. 

 

\-- 

 

The electronic scroll lies heavy in his jacket pocket. When he touches it, the cold metal burns his palm.


	6. (+1: Starfleet is our ever after)

**_+1. Starfleet is our ever after._**

He tries not to think of Bones. He thinks of everything but Bones. He thinks of the sky, and the stars that he might be touching so very soon. He thinks of his graduating from Starfleet early, and when he does, he thinks of a ship. Starfleet made good on their word, and even without his father’s help, being George Kirk’s son was enough to guarantee him a ship.   
He thinks of the crew that he might take up. He thinks of the bright Asian pilot he worked with, the Scottish fellow he met on Delta Vega during a transporter exam. He thinks of Spock, and Spock’s girlfriend (who doesn’t give him one inch to work with, and demands that he calls her by her last name, how unfortunate), and how they would be valuable additions to his imaginary crew, both in talent and skill, and in companionship. 

He thinks that time would make things better. He’s wrong. Jim sees Bones everywhere, in coffee shops, in the groceries, down the street. When Jim thinks of his future ship, he thinks of the sickbay, and how Leonard McCoy would fit so well in there. He starts dating a tall brunette girl, elegant and classy, all lean lines, and all he thinks of is how she doesn’t look at him right, and how her laughs are never quite full enough. And the days he’s actually honest with himself, he dreams of a smirking man in his captain’s quarters, in his captain’s bed, beckoning to him with long fingers. He doesn’t get much sleep, and spends more and more time under the spray of his shower. 

 

\-- 

 

The one and last time he hits the streets, he looks for the Russian child instead of Bones. 

“Hey,” he calls when he finds him. The boy looks at him with startled doe eyes before trying to slip away. “Please,” says Jim. “Is he okay?” 

“He is, what you say, not around here anymore.” He says it with such finality, and Jim feels his heart slowing, ice flooding his fingers and spreading. 

“What do you mean?” 

The boy shrugs, and then looks at Jim’s pained expression. He sighs, and struggles to find the words, “Not here anymore. Departed from.” He gestures around, and then gazes at Jim with impossibly liquid eyes. “He is gone.” 

Jim barely stops a choked cry from slipping past his lips. The boy backs away, alarmed. “Sorry, sorry,” gasps Jim, vision blurring. He takes deep breaths. He knew, he knew, he should’ve dragged Bones back with him. 

“I am sorry.” The boy puts a hand on Jim’s arm, eyes sympathetic. “There are others, like him, if you want. Not the same, but similar.” 

With a roar, Jim knocks the boy’s hand off. “It’s not like that!” The boy flinches, and flexes his hand. Jim shakes his head, and rubs at his eyes. “There wasn’t anyone like him.” Jim breathes heavily, trying so hard not to burst out into tears in front of a complete stranger. “He...knew me,” Jim says softly. 

The boy presses his lips into another sympathetic smile. “You knew him too.” 

Jim is oddly comforted by that. They stand under the light, Jim with his shoulders hunched, the boy with his arms wrapped around himself. Finally, Jim says, “I just, I’m going to miss him.” He looks up at the sky, dotted with little stars, and thinks of falling. “I have to go.” 

The boy nods. “I wish you best.” He turns to slip into the side street. 

“Wait,” Jim says. “Your name. You sort of helped me in finding him. I’ve never properly thanked you.” 

The boy smiles again, showing a row of surprisingly white and even teeth. “I don’t have one.” 

 

\-- 

 

It is not Spock who shows up at his door, but Nyota. 

“Nyota,” Jim tiredly lets her in the house. 

“Uhura,” she corrects. 

“Uhura,” parrots Jim. “If Spock sent you, I’m sending you back, and you can tell him that I’m just fine.” 

“I came here by myself.” 

That was unexpected. Jim blinks owlishly at Nyota. She tilts her head impatiently. “Are you going to keep your guest in the foyer?” 

“Oh, right. Here.” Jim shows her into the kitchen. “Tea?” 

“Yes, thanks.” She takes a seat, flicking her long hair over her shoulder. “Look, Jim. I know I give you a rough time and everything, and I don’t know the guy at all, but if he kept your spastic attention span for more than one hour, then he must’ve been something.” She looks at her nails, and then right into Jim’s eyes. “I just want you to know that it’ll be okay.” 

Jim stares at her. “Uh.” 

A kind expression settles on Nyota’s face. “I can say this in forty different languages, but the idea’s the same. It’ll be okay.” 

Jim nods. “Ohhkay.” 

Then Nyota wrinkles her nose and smiles her usual don’t-bullshit-me-Kirk-I’m-more-charming-than-you smile, and says, “That’s all the wisdom I have for you. Now bring me my tea, Kirk.” 

 

\-- 

 

Jim’s grieving process is unpredictably quick. Between Nyota’s visit, and the multiple calls Sam makes – “To make sure you haven’t thrown yourself out of a window, Jimmy, because killing yourself after your lover dies is not romantic, no matter who says it to be,” which in turn makes Jim grit his teeth and grind out, “Stop reading Aurelan’s romance crap, I’m fine,” and “He wasn’t my lover, asshole,” to Spock’s awkward attempts of getting him to potentially kill himself with large quantities of alcohol. 

“I thought this was a human coping method,” Spock says, carrying two large bottles of Romulan ale. Jim stares at the bottles with a sick feeling, before catching Nyota rolling her eyes. 

His parents blessedly say nothing, although Jim is sure his father knows something, with the way George stares knowingly at him whenever he visits. 

During this time, his girlfriend leaves him, Jim suspects much to Spock’s, Nyota’s, and Aurelan’s relief. He strangely feels lighter, but empty all the same. It is like he is at a complete standstill, waiting for something. 

 

\-- 

 

When the doorbell rings, Jim thinks nothing of it. He thinks that maybe it might be a commanding officer demanding his presence at some meeting, or that maybe he might have a posting, or that maybe, after a lot of fandangling, politics, and proving himself, maybe his request for the Enterprise came through. That is why when he opens the door, he does not expect Leonard McCoy. 

This was not the Leonard McCoy that he remembered, reluctant and suspicious. This Leonard McCoy looked back at him with clear eyes, standing tall in front of him. “Jim,” he says, lips curving around his name. 

Jim feels light-headed. “Oh my God,” Jim says, chest constricting. “I’m hallucinating.” He clutches the doorframe in support. 

“Aren’t you a charmer,” drawls Leonard. Then he takes in Jim’s pale face and shaking form. “Jim? Are you okay?” 

“I might throw up on you,” breathes Jim, world spinning. Then he hits the floor. 

 

\-- 

 

“You sure know how to make a fellow feel special.” 

“Nrgh,” Jim grumbles out. His mouth feels like he’s been chewing on cotton. He opens his eyes, and Leonard’s swims into focus. “Bones?!” 

“Hi,” Leonard says. He helps Jim up to a sitting position. “How you feelin’?” 

“Bones,” says Jim, wonderingly. “You’re alive.” He reaches out to touch Leonard’s face. 

“Of course I am. Why would you say that?” Leonard looks at him worriedly. “Did you hit your head? Does your head hurt anywhere?” He smoothes his hands across Jim’s temple, and gently palms Jim’s head. Jim leans into the touch, and Leonard stills. 

“Jim?” Leonard asks, in an odd voice. 

“The boy, he said you died.” Jim can’t help the small catch in his voice when he confesses this. 

Leonard stares at him, before breaking into a wide grin. “That boy,” Leonard repeats, and shakes his head. His hands are still on Jim’s head, except now he’s threading his fingers through Jim’s hair. “Did he really say I was dead?” 

Jim nods, eyes closing. Leonard brushes his hand across Jim’s cheek before putting his hands down. “He said I was dead. Word for word,” he repeats. 

Jim thinks back to the conversation, the one he runs through his head often, and then realizes. Departed. Not dead. “Huh. Lost in translation.” But he looks at Leonard, eyes full of regret. “I went back, after we fought. I looked for you, all over the streets, and then I went to your place and waited, but you never showed up. I broke in, Bones – “ here Leonard snorts, “but you were gone, and I thought something happened.” 

“You were right,” Leonard fiddles with his sleeves. 

“What?” 

“That I was a coward.” Leonard tilts his head. “Truth was, I was afraid. Of not being able to do it, of not being able to actually get out. I don’t think,” Leonard hesitates. “I don’t think I would’ve been able to go on if I failed out of Starfleet.” 

“Is that where you were all this time?” Jim demands. 

Leonard nods, smiling slightly. “I applied. They were in need of doctors, and I picked up things quickly enough. Went through their accelerated programs.” 

“So you’re – “ 

The grin Leonard gives him is modest, and yet full of pride and relief, and happiness. “I’m a doctor, not a prostitute.” 

Jim bursts out laughing. Everything’s slotting into place. He slips a hand around his neck and pulls Leonard towards him. “I don’t know, Doctor McCoy,” Jim murmurs against Leonard’s mouth. “I sort of liked you then too.” 

 

\-- 

 

Leonard doesn’t cry when Jim gives him his high school diploma scroll. He caresses the scroll like a lover, gratefulness and pain, and love flashing across his face, and then he turns the affections to Jim’s face, stroking his face in the same manner, running his long fingers across Jim’s lips. 

 

\-- 

 

“You said to me once that you’d stay on Earth for the rest of your life.” 

They’re on the roof, and Leonard is sitting next to Jim, albeit a little stiffly. “I don’t like heights,” was his growled explanation. 

Leonard slides his gaze to Jim. “Yeah. I did,” he says cautiously. He’s holding the scroll tightly in his right hand, knuckles white. 

“Why?” 

Leonard presses his lips together. “I –“ he falters, looking away from Jim. “When I was younger, I thought maybe I would have a life with someone, on Earth. I wasn’t brave or particularly adventurous,” he sneaks a look at Jim, and seeing the warm expression on Jim’s face, continues, “and I didn’t jump off roofs pretending to be spaceships – “ 

“Hey!” Jim shouts, indignant. 

“– But I thought that I’d settle, and be happy. On Earth.” He stops, and Jim sees Leonard retreating internally. 

“You can have that in space, Bones,” Jim says mildly. 

Leonard just nods. “Yeah, but I hear houses are a little safer than spaceships.” Then he grins at Jim. “I also hear that the USS Intrepid might need a mascot.” 

Jim glowers at Leonard. “Trust you to bring that up.” They settle into a comfortable silence, Leonard occasionally nudging Jim with his shoulder. 

Jim’s never been this happy before. Even with both his parents and Sam, and Spock (and Uhura, now that he thinks about it) as his friends, he’s always felt like they were obligated to love him, and here he was, Bones sitting next to him on a roof. Jim holds out his hand, palm up towards Leonard. “C’mon, Bones. It’ll be great.” He smiles. “Think about it. All that empty space, new territories. No one’s gonna know who we are. We’ll write it all.” 

The fond look on Bones’ face makes Jim want to cry and laugh at the same time. “All that empty space, huh. Sounds like death and disease is just waiting for us.” 

All of a sudden, he understands what he needs to say, and he smiles. “Leonard Horatio McCoy,” he says, his voice clear, like the first time they introduced themselves. “There’s no one out there but me and you.” He winks at Leonard. “And maybe a few alien babes.” 

“You’re a real bastard,” Leonard says, but there is no malice in his voice. 

Jim just kisses him. “You and me, Bones.”

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for prostitution (situational dub-con), minor character death,  
> Abused!McCoy, unbetaed, so all I claim responsibility for all mistakes, and, er, questionable writing. Nobody dies other than minor characters.


End file.
